Brothers at Odds
by cedarrapidsgirl78
Summary: Sherlock punches Mycroft. But that's not the end of it. Not even close.
1. Chapter 1

It happened quickly, before John could stop him. Sherlock lunged and Mycroft didn't expect it, and the next thing John knew, Sherlock was sitting angrily in one corner of the room with a bloody hand and Mycroft was in the other corner, trying unsuccessfully to stop his bloody nose with a handkerchief.

Mycroft tried to wave John away, but finally acquiesced and let John give him a towel and inspect his swollen face. "Don't fret over me too much, John. I know that I definitely had that one coming." Sherlock snorted over in his corner and was holding his hand. He didn't speak, but stared at John and Mycroft and then went back to his sulk, curls falling in his eyes making him look the total role of the picked on little brother.

John managed to get the bleeding stopped and pressed gently on Mycroft's face. He hissed in pain softly as John touched a tender spot. "Yeah, I definitely think you broke it. You're going to want to get that checked out and treated." Mycroft nodded and made it up to the chair, dabbing at his face again with the towel. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and sent out a quick message. Almost immediately he got a response, and Mycroft soon ignored both Sherlock and John and was focused on his mobile.

John took that as a good sign, and made his way over to Sherlock, who was still sulking in his corner. He was still angry, but held out his hand for inspection when John wordlessly pointed. Although Sherlock made no sound, John could tell that the detective was in pain when John pressed a little too hard against the knuckles on his hand. "Yeah, it looks like you may have broken something too. You're going to want to get that looked at as well." Sherlock opened his mouth and John continued. "And not just me, you berk." A doctor at a hospital that can fix that hand and give you pain meds that are legal. And don't argue for a change. Just do what I damn say for once." Sherlock shut his mouth and went back to scowling.

Mycroft slipped his phone in his pocket. "I will be off for now, Gentlemen. Thank you, John for your care, I'm off to get this looked at now. As for you, brother, I fully accept your act of violence towards me, and I will admit, I deserved that punch and so much more. Until later." And then he was gone down to his waiting car.

John stared after Mycroft, shook his head and turned his attention back to his pouting consulting detective. "Well, come on, get up. We're going to hospital too. And no fussing. We're going.

"

Sherlock got up silently with John's help and waited patiently by the door as John grabbed his coat and keys. And Sherlock's complicity, John thought later, should have been a huge red flag that there was a huge storm brewing in Sherlock's mind palace.


	2. Chapter 2

As they went down the stairs, Sherlock's mobile buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at it quickly. As they stepped outside Sherlock hailed a cab and he finally spoke. "Bart's, please". John looked surprised.

"Think about it, John. I just came back from the dead only three weeks ago. If I go into any old A&E and want to be seen, there will be questions. And I don't want or need questions. At Bart's I can be seen by a special doctor of Mycroft's choosing who can be trusted to be discreet."

John said nothing but nodded as the cab made its way through the streets. He wasn't a big fan of that hospital, for obvious reasons, and he was sure Sherlock wasn't either. But Sherlock was right, if they didn't want too many questions, doing what Mycroft said, even though he seemed to be part of this particular problem, made sense. Well, as much sense as the Holmes brothers ever made.

When they neared the hospital Sherlock leaned forward and spoke to the driver quietly, and they went down a back alley and under a ramp and parked in a dark corner. Sherlock got out and John did the same, waiting until Sherlock finished his transaction. Then Sherlock lead the way to the nearest door, where upon opening, they were met by Anthea who as usual was engrossed in her mobile.

There was awkward silence in the short elevator ride. John didn't even try to chat up Mycroft's right hand girl, and Sherlock was looking like the pain was finally catching up with him. His face was pained and he was trying to cradle his right hand but not actually touching it. He noticed John watching him. "I'm _fine_, John. It's just a simple injury." He went back to staring straight ahead.

The lift doors opened into a nondescript hallway, then they were led down to a room. Inside were two chairs, some x ray equipment and a very ordinary doctor sitting at a table waiting for them. As soon as they were inside, Anthea disappeared and the doctor spoke. "Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson." Sherlock sat quietly and held out his hand. As the doctor worked in complete silence, John was actually wishing someone would talk, or say something, anything. Even Sherlock was managing to keep his deductions to himself for a change, which must mean something, John thought.

"Over here, Mr. Holmes." The doctor moved over to the x ray equipment and positioned Sherlock's hand where he needed it. After 4 exposures John looked over at Sherlock who was now starting to look even more pale than usual. John opened his mouth to mention it to the doctor, when the man stood up quickly and snapped his file folder shut. "I'll be back shortly," he said, walking out of the room, leaving John and Sherlock to wait.

Sherlock slid down in the chair and sulked again. John had had enough of the surly silence. "You could have asked for something for pain, you know. I'm sure he would have given you something."

"I'm sure there's something back at home you can give me. I'll be fine until then." Sherlock pushed his hair out of his face with his good hand. He avoided any eye contact with John.

John sighed. "Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?" Sherlock turned to look at John and opened his mouth when the doctor came back with a cart stocked with supplies. .

The doctor was blunt. "Your hand is broken, Mr. Holmes. You need a cast. Hold it out, please." Sherlock complied and the small room fell into silence again.

"Well?" John prompted.

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the doctor and his work. "Not here. When we get back to Baker Street."

John knew that was the end of that conversation for now. He sat back in his uncomfortable chair, folded his arms across his chest and waited. Because when Sherlock Holmes wasn't talking, waiting was the only thing you could do.


End file.
